She, Who Challenges
by R.C. McLachlan
Summary: It had been, oddly enough, Nappa's idea to strike the trade deal with Earth. (Saiyan royalty AU, Bulma/Vegeta, now with an added bonus!)
1. She, Who Challenges

Written for the tumblr prompt "would you consider writing one where geets and bulma are in an arranged marriage?"

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It had been, oddly enough, Nappa's idea to strike the trade deal. In the skirmishes with the Agres, he'd seen them using odd contraptions that could shrink an object's mass to almost nothing. Whole armadas, carried in pockets. _Imagine, sire: the ability to feed your entire army with the push of a button._

The prospect had been too good to resist, and upon capturing a few Agres soldiers and torturing the manufacturer's location out of them, the king sent Vegeta to enact a deal: planetary protection in exchange for the capsule technology. _Since your own race seems to hold no joy for you, see if you can procure yourself a bride, as well. If Earth's advances are all as promising as their "capsules," a formal alliance can only better our chances against the Kolds._

The humans were glad for the promise of protection. It seemed the Kold empire had its gaze fixated on the capsule technology, as well, and had sent scouts to determine its value and blow up a few cities as a show of power. A contingent of pathetic warriors dispatched the scouts eventually, but the threat of a Kold invasion lingered. Joining forces with the saiyan empire was looking more and more like the best course of action. The deal was all but official.

An alliance with such a weak race isn't the hardest thing he's ever been forced to swallow, but the implications of the dossier his advisers had pressed into into his hands moments ago just might be.

Countless, sweet-faced women captured in brilliantly rendered color stare up at him from their respective applications— _kind, compassionate, submissive,_ the assessments decide in indelible ink—and he doesn't need the gift of clairvoyance to know that every single one of them would crumble under the weight of the saiyan crown. The humans have had the presence of mind to include a few warriors in their offerings, but none of them light a spark of interest in them.

He doesn't know why he's surprised. This is a world of little disappointments that form an utterly ridiculous whole—everything is too soft here: the people, the food, the gravity. The humans are too eager to please, too quick to agree.

In the name of entertainment (and a test of mettle), he even fought a few of the famed "Z-Warriors" who had saved the planet from the Kold scouts, but they proved to be laughably below him in both ability and wit. There was one who showed up late to the event, all smiles and sheepish laughs, but while he had the strength of a saiyan, he didn't have the heart. Vegeta put him down, too.

There is no challenge to be found here.

It's a shame. From orbit, Earth looks as though it holds all possibilities within the wispy embrace of its atmosphere. Surviving the remaining days here will be a test of his diplomatic abilities, which–for some reason–are required of him if he is to ascend the throne. Destroying the planet before they get what they came for will not win him any favors, so he bites down the urge to send a blast straight into Earth's core and shuts the dossier with a pointed _snap_.

Making sure to bare all his teeth in some semblance of a smile, he slides the folder to the diplomats across the table. "Take me to meet the team responsible for the capsules."

His father would be so proud. He asked for something politely and killed no one.

The diplomat he hates the least—a woman with dark skin who's proven herself to be the only one among them with half a brain—lifts her head and gives him a nearly neutral expression. Perhaps he'll press his advantage and have her brought to work in the offices on Vegeta-sei. It's been in great disarray since his father executed the head of foreign relations; she could probably fill the role easily.

Her brow twitches, giving her away. "Your highness, I don't know if it would be wise to visit the labs without giving them notice."

"Oh?" His heart gives an interested thud. "And why is that, Lady Thebo?"

To her credit, she gives nothing else away. "The Capsule Corporation laboratories are, uh, notoriously unsafe spaces. We would need to give the team time to get rid of Bulm—um, prepare for a visit. There is also the matter of possibly contaminating sterile spaces, as we do not know if you are carriers of bacteria that could potentially—"

"I would be careful to whom you refer to as a _carrier_ , human," Radditz growls from where he stands behind Vegeta. He has been uncharacteristically silent through the final proceedings, but then Radditz was always more at home on a council instead of a battlefield. His focus and observation had saved Vegeta from agreeing to a few terms that would have yielded small loopholes. Radditz is a credit to his race; he did nothing when Vegeta bested his brother in battle except make a comment about Kakarot being "infected with humanity."

Thebo's mouth flattens into a thin line as she inclines her head. "Apologies, highness, but I only meant—"

"I know what you meant," Vegeta barks. "I honestly couldn't care less if I _contaminate_ your entire race with my very presence. So long as it doesn't affect the capsules, I will go where I please, and it would _please_ me to meet the team in whom we are placing our trust."

It serves to shut her up but it also has the virtue of being true. _He_ holds all the power in this deal, and making him angry will only serve to hasten what could be a violent end for Earth. The saiyans may be the lesser of two evils, but that does not mean they are in any way good.

Thebo gives him a long, hard look, then sighs as if she's too tired to fight anymore. Gods, but it's a wonder this planet has lasted so long. She gestures to the door. "As your highness wishes."

She leads both him and Radditz, as well as the rest of the diplomatic contingent, through a twisting maze of elevators, stairs, and corridors before they finally descend into a lower level that opens wide. He stands at the top of a tall staircase, overlooking the massive chrome cavern that stretches out before him, and breathes in the sharp scent of antiseptic and metal. Below, dozens of people in white lab coats scurry about like insects startled by a light while—

"I DON'T CARE," a woman screams into a headset, waving her arm and snapping her fingers rapidly to get the attention of the people nearest her. "GET ME FUCKING PERRY! I've got a bratty alien _royal_ running around my compound somewhere and Perry still hasn't gotten me my matter compressor. You find him and you tell him that when I get my hands on him I'm going to shove him in a box and pump it full of fluoroantimonic acid until he's nothing but a fucking _memory_."

Vegeta's lips twitch into a grin.

One of the insects glances up, meets Vegeta's gaze, and shrieks. "Ms. Briefs—"

With a snarl, she rips off the headset and whips it at one of her minions, then she points at another and demands, "Did you replace all the depressor coils? I don't need these saiyan fuckwits reneging on this bullshit deal because of shoddy equipment."

It takes all his years of training to bite down on the laugh that bubbles in his chest. Somewhere in his gut something flutters and he curls his hands into fists to stem the mania trembling in them.

"M-Ms. Briefs, you really shouldn't—" The insect hasn't managed to struggle his way out of the grip of Vegeta's stare, but Vegeta takes pity on the poor bastard and looks elsewhere, releasing him.

"Don't tell me what to say in my own lab, Flournoy," she snaps. Her gloved fingers rake through the thick fall of her hair. Vegeta can't help but be drawn to it; he's never seen a color like that outside of a blue dwarf. "Please tell me that the vehicle capsules are at least packed and ready to go."

"Everything's ready, with the exception of the housing units, Ms. Briefs."

"Good, because I'm sweating lymph here," she breathes, then stalks forward. "Capsule tech in return for protection? What a fucking racket. These saiyans think they've got us backed into a corner, huh? King Koku really believes this is our only option? Fine. Just wait until they see what _I've_ got in store."

His heart pumps a bloodlust that screams for recognition and release throughout his arteries, and a deep rumble of power demands to be pulled to the surface. The thought of a human having any kind of leverage on him ought to be laughable, but something tells him not to underestimate this loud-mouthed, fearless creature.

Out of the corner of his eye, Radditz looks appalled at the display before them, and at his side Thebo keeps glancing around desperately for something sharp to kill herself with. Snickering, Vegeta launches from the platform and descends slowly while the woman's minions fill the air with their shrieks of terror and scatter.

She stands firm, watching with eyes the color of gas jets as he lands before her, and there is nothing resembling fear in her face.

There are no words to describe the shock that ricochets through him when she meets his gaze with all the subtlety of a fist to the gut, nor the feeling that clings like oil to his insides, coating him in slick heat and the unbearable need to create a moon and _rage_. He once stared down Frieza, the butcher of the universe, and declared war in front of two armies, and was more in control of himself in that moment than he is before this woman.

Like the dawn over the broken bodies of the dead on a field of battle, a smile breaks across her face. "Prince Vegeta, I presume. I ought to kill you twice over for the shit you've put me through this week."

Finally.

A challenge.

He takes her hand—fragile thing with birdlike bones—carefully into his and flips it to bare her wrist. It tenses in his grip but she does not fight it when he brings his lips to meet her pulse. Somewhere above him, he hears Radditz suck in a sharp breath. To bestow such courtesy upon a saiyan of lower rank would invite swift and brutal scandal, never mind upon a human.

One must honor one's opponent. It is the way of war and union.

"Please," Vegeta purrs. "Tell me everything you have in store for me."

She inhales, rolls her shoulders, and slides her wrist from his fingers, only to curl her own and knock against the insignia embossed in the armor above his heart. "Where do I even fucking begin."

"Start at the beginning."

And what a beginning it will be.


	2. Unexpected Tumblr Prompt Sequel

The rise and fall of her spine is an easy thing, as if it were not forged from some unbendable alloy, and the soft part of her lips is an invitation obscured by the curtain of hair the color of an O-type star. Sleep has softened her edges, the unimpressed lines of her blurred by calm dreams. She is someone he's never seen before; a complete stranger, in repose.

Then he spies the half-finished bomb she's using for a pillow.

He grins. There she is.

Cheerfully, Vegeta hauls his parcel up and slams it down onto the table with a loud crash. She jerks awake with a shriek and grabs for the first thing within reach–a soldering gun–and brandishes it as if she means to attack him. After a moment the haze of sleep lifts from her eyes and is replaced by a mounting annoyance.

Her top lip curls in a sneer when she meets his gaze, and he's impossibly charmed by that.

"Oh, it's _you_ ," she grumbles, raking a hand through her hair and twisting it to sit over her shoulder. "What do you want?"

"I brought you a gift."

She blinks, stymied, and then follows his gaze to the armor he'd slammed down in front of her. A muscle jumps in her cheek. "Wow. Just what I've always wanted."

"Fix it."

The fury in her expression is tempered by curiosity, which is hardly surprising. She's said on more than one occasion that she'd rather have something called a "root canal" than spend five minutes with him, but the promise of studying new tech has never failed to win him time with her. Ever since Radditz sent a report back to Vegeta-sei about its prince's "display" upon meeting the scientist responsible for the capsule tech, Nappa has done nothing but give him shit for acting like a lowly pet bringing its master dead vermin in return for scratches behind the ears. His father, however, is intrigued. _I've never seen you so addled by anyone. If she is as formidable as Radditz claims, do not let the opportunity pass you by. If she will not bear you heirs that are strong, I will settle for intelligent. Whatever it is she wants in return for a marriage deal, it's hers._

Therein lies the problem. She wants for nothing. What her money can't buy she creates for herself.

He's never experienced this before, being in thrall to someone else. _Addled_ , his father had said knowingly. Until he came to Earth, he dealt with all his problems the same way: blew them up. He's not sure when that stopped being an option, but he can't even muster up a ki blast when in the same room with her. He's seen several physicians–both human and of his own entourage–about the palpitations he experiences when he catches a sniff of the soap she uses; he didn't even kill the ones who laughed in his face. He's written a list of the things that might appeal to her. It's been days since he's had a full night's sleep. He'd ask Radditz for help, but his most trusted advisor has taken to outright avoiding him.

So it was a matter of taking things into his own hands. In the name of proactivity, he's given her countless invitations to dine with him–none of which she's taken. On the days when she's left her lab or the chairs at the side of her pool to explore the deserts and jungles of her planet, a strange radar clutched in her hands, he's invited himself along and kept her on her toes by insulting her parentage and assuring her that her clothes are ugly. He thought maybe he saw gratitude in her eyes for his daring kill of a great, scaly beast that tried to eat her, but she shouted that his "GARLIC GUN BULLSHIT SHIFTED THE LANDSCAPE AND BURIED THE BALL, YOU FUCKING JACKASS, OH MY GOD, JUST _GO HOME ALREADY_." He should have killed her for that. For a great number of things. Instead, he was back the next day to see if she'd like to tour his own goddamn ship.

This is absurd. Nobody should have to live like this.

"So, what's wrong with it?" Bulma lifts the armor up to the light for a better look, turning it this and that way, studying the nicks and burns that mark the chest plate. Her throat is a long, graceful stretch, and his mouth fills at the thought of tasting her skin.

"It's an old model; it doesn't sufficiently shield me any longer, and there's a broken piece that digs into my ribs."

At that, she smirks. "Seems like it's in perfect working order to me."

Vegeta can't help it; he chortles. "I should execute you for your insolence. I am your prince–"

"Yeah, lemme put a little reality on the plate for you," she interrupts, tossing the armor back to him and then placing her fingers delicately upon the tabletop. "You're not _my_ prince. You're _a_ prince. And in like four days, you'll be a prince back where he belongs: twenty-thousand light years away and out of my hair for good."

"You'll miss me." Even as he says it, he cringes. Gods of blood and battle, is this what he's been reduced to?

She snorts. "Not even a little. And believe me, you'll be glad to be out of here, too. Just think! You won't have to deal with the–what did you call me? Oh, right– _weak, inferior creature with a brain deficiency when it comes to palatable fashion._ "

In his defense, the blazer she was wearing when he said that was an assault to his eyes.

"You saiyans sure have a fucked-up way of doing business," she muses, picking up the soldering gun and turning her attention back to the bomb she'd been sleeping on. "Insulting your trade partners usually doesn't make for a happy trade."

"Implying what, exactly? What are you going to do?" He sneers. "Move against us? Don't make me laugh."

"Trust me: you wouldn't be laughing. My secret weapons have secret weapons." She makes a shooing motion with her free hand. "Now run along. You're blocking my light."

"I'm not in your light."

"You're blocking my brainwaves, then. Get out."

He could leave. He should. There are a million preparations to be made before the saiyan delegate departs in a few days, and he wants to triple check that _all_ the capsules–which were encapsulated in 4 larger capsules–were as they should be. He's read human literature. He will not be responsible for a Trojan Horse unleashing havoc on Vegeta-sei.

Bulma's head is bent. If she were anyone else, it would be lowered out of fear and deference, but no. Her attention is entirely on her work, hands diligent where they delicately solder metal edges and twist wire. _She's_ dismissed _him_.

The future yawns out before him: he will be back on Vegeta-sei, the rightful heir to the throne and leader of the opposition against the Kolds. Nappa will bring him to the see the latest recruits to their forces, and Radditz will no doubt hit the ground running on a way to get past Cooler's defenses. His father will spend time trotting princess after noble after duchess before him in hopes that an heir will be produced. The kingdom will look to their prince for guidance, for victory, and he will be too busy haunting the labs in the hopes that he'll turn around and a blue-haired woman in a white coat will be there, demanding to know how he plans to ruin her day _this_ time.

A dishwater-colored existence is what he will be doomed to if she doesn't look up now.

"I didn't mean it like that," Vegeta hears himself say.

"How else am I supposed to take 'you're too stupid to live'?" She asks it of the bomb, which hums to life under her touch.

"It was… a _compliment_."

He was once captured as a child by the Kolds and the weeks-long torture he endured at their hands was easier than this.

"A compliment," Bulma echoes absently, screwing something into a metal plate. "Oh, please. What are you, a little boy too afraid to tell his crush he likes her so he pulls on her pig…tails…"

Suddenly, she goes very, very still. She stops breathing. She puts down her tools.

She looks up.

"Oh my god. I can't believe you," she says, and it isn't anger in her voice. It's complete and utter bafflement. He bites back the sudden urge to cough. His cheeks feel hot. "That's it, isn't it. You're pulling my pigtails because you like me."

"What are pigtails?" He asks, honestly curious.

Bulma sits up, throws her head back, and cackles. "Oh my _god._ _That's_ what this was all about? With the insults and the hunting invitations–"

"You dare laugh at–"

She ignores him. "Why didn't you just _say_? Vegeta, you absolute idiot. No, _I'm_ the idiot. I should've realized when you invited yourself to be my date for that charity thing and you almost tore that guy's throat out with your teeth for spilling wine on me."

Tagging along to that "charity thing" wasn't his brightest idea. He'd been bored to tears within twenty minutes of arriving and had been seriously contemplating setting something on fire to liven things up when a drunk pissant bumped into Bulma and dumped an entire glass of wine down the front of her admittedly stunning gown. He'd had the fool up against a wall in an instant, crushing his windpipe slowly while he turned a satisfying shade of blue. It was only due to Bulma breaking the empty glass over his shoulder that he released the man and stalked out of the event altogether, leaving her to clean up the mess.

"He insulted the companion of a prince! He's lucky I didn't make an example of him and his entire family," Vegeta snaps.

"Oh my god, shut up," she groans, raking her hands through her hair. She drops her hands to the table and peers up at him, a thoughtful tilt to her mouth. "So, what were you going to do about this?"

He looks at the wall and grits out, "Nothing."

"You were obviously going to do something."

"… I was… thinking of asking you to accompany me back to Vegeta-sei."

"… As your new head scientist?

It's so ridiculous that he whips around to bark at her, "As my wife!"

She laughs again. "Yeah, no. I've known you for like ten minutes. Head scientist on an alien world is about all I can handle right now."

He should have known. Why else would she prolong this agony if not to reject him so thoroughly? The gaping schism opening in his gut is not unlike the feeling he had when Frieza bested him on the field of battle the first time. It was his first and only taste of crippling, bloody defeat, and he wasn't sure he would ever recover from it. This, somehow, is worse, because it was a battle he was entirely certain would have a happy outcome.

Something hits him on the side of his head and he startles, watching as her screwdriver goes skidding across the floor. He turns to look at her, and she blinks up at him innocently.

"Before you fall into, like, a pit of despair, calm down. You didn't let me finish."

Swallowing, he forces himself to look her in the eye. If she has more to say, he will take it like the warrior he is.

"Head scientist on a foreign alien world is about all I can handle _right now,_ " she says again."We have plenty of time, okay? Aren't you supposed to _court_ the person you want to marry? Court me, you dipshit."

"What the hell do you think I've been doing?!"

"For longer than a week, asshole!" In an instant, she's on her feet, slamming her hands down on the table and baring her teeth. "And you spent the time being a royal pain in my ass and insulting my shoes. If I'm going to marry anyone, I need to know it's not someone I'm going to kill five minutes into the honeymoon."

"What's a honeymoon?" If it's a moon-based ritual, it could be interesting.

She rolls her eyes. "Are you listening to me? I'll come back with you! Just stop being such a fucking child about everything and act like the goddamn prince you are!"

"Fine!" He shouts.

"Fine!" She shouts back.

They stare each other down for a long moment, the air between them burning with promise, until she breaks his gaze and sits back down. He waits for her to say something, but instead she goes back to her bomb.

"Okay, _now_ you can get out," Bulma says. "Come back before six."

His fingers ache where they're balled into fists. "What's at six?"

She beams up at him. "We're going to on our first, official date. I'm taking you to an all-you-can-eat _buffet,_ and if you don't get us kicked out you might even get lucky by the end of the night."

He can parse the meaning of "get lucky" from the way her voice drops salaciously, and he doesn't even try to hide the wicked grin that pulls at his mouth. "Very well. I will come back at six."

"Oh, and a word of advice? Unitards aren't sexy, Vegeta. Go find something with buttons. You know, in the name of easy access."

When she goes back to her bomb, he leaves the lab gladly, broken armor tucked under his arm. It doesn't feel like a dismissal this time, though. It feels like a challenge.

And he loves those.

* * *

Written for the tumblr prompt: _Could you write more of the diplomatic marriage vegeta-and-raditz-come-to-earth-for-capsule-tech-and-vegeta-is-fascinated-by-bulma's-vulgarity au?_


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